


Blackbone Forest

by Angelicasdean



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Whump, BAMF Arthur Morgan, BAMF Hosea, Blindness, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Can you hear that?, Down the cave we go, Drowning, Everybody is hurt to some degree, Exploration, Explosions, Fear of Death, Fear of Discovery, Fighting, Horror, Hosea is an A+ parent, How Do I Tag, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Hurt Charles, Hurt/Comfort, It's the gore :), Makeshift weapons, Mental Instability, Mistakes, Monsters, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Arthur Morgan, Protectiveness, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Sorry Arthur :/, Supernatural Elements, Supernatural Illnesses, Survival Horror, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unknown Monsters, fear of darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2020-08-14 15:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20194747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelicasdean/pseuds/Angelicasdean
Summary: “Why’re you asking?” Hosea asks as he steps closer, “Is there something there?”“I think-” Arthur sighs, looking down to Hosea, “I think I saw-” he doesn’t get to finish, something hard hitting his side, knocking the breath and balance out of him.





	1. Entry

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I've always loved horror and thriller stories, so this very exciting for me to write. I tried doing my research on writing horror, and gave it my best go.
> 
> Blackbone always gave the creeps, and the abundance of wolves and cougars in that area don't help.

Chapter One

Arthur tapped his finger against the saddle horn for the infinite time, the darkness ahead goes on and on and on. The sound of crushing leaves has become more of a lull than anything, white noise in the background. They’d been on the trail for so long, a few days, now, and nothing had came up. The thin lead they had followed turned up dusty and uneventful. Once they had followed it into Big Valley, they had lost the clues entirely, and that had been around Strawberry. They had gotten desperate enough that they had followed the local sightings, followed the rumors of a cloud-white large wolf, and those lead them here, to Blackbone Forest

It may have been foresight, or just pure luck, but thankfully, the little hunting party he had gathered had infinite patience, or it seemed like that. Hosea and Charles were the perfect companions for such a frustrating hunt, and Arthur was sure he would have lost his mind days ago if it weren’t for their company balancing him out.

Hosea had cracked jokes and threw half-hearted insults when they lost the wolf the first time, and Charles played the harmonica when the nights weren’t light enough for banter.

The silence had fallen over them just as gradually as the sky changed from its soft pink into the inky blackness of night. They had originally planned to set camp around dusk, but Charles had caught sight of the wolf and they had abandoned the idea and ran after it.

And then they lost it, as usual, so they had resided themselves to a sleepless night. They were already so close, Hosea had shot it once, and it was bound to rest up at some point.

It was just beginning to get boring _when_,

“O’Molly, O’Molly,” Hosea starts to sing softly.

Arthur smiles as he falls into a hum, following the tune. The air around them lightened a bit, as Hosea sings while Arthur hums where the guitar would normally be. Charles doesn’t join, but a smile does illuminate his face as he tucks his shotgun into his saddlebag, relighting his lantern. The trees rustle around them, and their horses snort and huff under them.

Hosea’s voice starts to fade as he comes short on lyrics, but nobody points it out, and Arthur hums to himself as Hosea gives up entirely and silences.

They ride on, and it’s only a few minutes later when he realizes.

The sounds around them, Arthur notices as he tries to focus, seemed to have halted. No cricket sounds or boar squeals or even owl hoots. It feels very eerie, but the lantern is sending heat down his leg, and Hosea is humming to himself, picking up from where Arthur had stopped, and the effect is lost somewhere between the three companions.

“Look,” Charles says quietly, and simultaneously Hosea and Arthur pull their horses to a stop. The wolf is perched on a rock, star-twinkling fur stained with its own blood. Arthur quietly draws his Rolling Block rifle, blinking as he gazes through its scope, taking aim. _Breath in, long, slow, **bang**_.

He doesn’t watch it from the scope, instead, lowering the rifle quickly to catch sight of the wolf limping off the rock, jumping down and disappearing behind a bolder. “God_damn_, will it ever give up?” Arthur whines, spurring his horse towards where the wolf ran off. Hosea chuckles beside him, Silver Dollar catching up to Goliath’s pace easily.

“You should learn a thing or two from it,” He says, but a smile is gracing his features, and there is no real malice behind the words. Arthur scoffs, rolling his eyes as he pushes Goliath into a faster canter.

The dirt ground turns into stone and pebbles, and Goliath huffs as his hooves threaten to slip on the rocks. “We should leave the horses,” Charles suggests, and Arthur doesn’t respond as he slides down from his saddle.

Hosea pulls his repeater from Silver Dollar’s saddle, throwing a glance at Arthur as he pulls out his own weaponry. As far as they know, the wolf is a lone one, but who knows; with their luck, a pack could appear from nowhere.

“So, you said a Trapper was near here?” Charles asks, and Arthur nods as he loads his rifle with express bullets. They were going to take this thing down today.

“Yeah, just south of here, actually,”

“The pelt should get us good money, enough to afford a few dinners in town, anyway,” Hosea muses, “I think I’ve grown used to the taste of beans to the point where it has become bland,”

“Oh, what, blander than Pearson’s stew?” Arthur retorts cheekily and Hosea cracks a low laugh.

“There is a difference between tasting bland, and forcing yourself not to taste something,” There’s a small chuckle that echoes between the three men, “huh,” Hosea raises a curious brow as they near the boulder, behind it, there’s an entrance. It’s barely as tall as Arthur, and only as wide as a single person.

“You think it’s a cave?” Charles asks, and Hosea leans closer. It’s pitch black, almost like a sheet of black cloth had gotten draped over it. Unnatural, almost. Arthur reaches a hand forward to make sure that the rock isn’t just painted.

His hand passes through, and he draws back quickly when it feels as if he had dipped his fingers through ice. Charles frowns, squinting against the darkness. They had left their lanterns on their horses in favor of their weapons, and so, too lazy and anticipating, Arthur pulls out his box of matches. He strikes one, and the flicker of light reveals that the cave curves downwards.

“Alright, fellas,” Hosea says with feigned cheer, pumping his fists stiffly “Let’s go explore this cave,” he beckons, shimming closer.

“We should grab a lantern, first” Charles points out, “Hold on, I’ll get mine,” he stomps away towards where the horses are waiting dutifully. Arthur watches him slip and stabilize himself, almost chuckles as Charles shakes his head and continues on.

“Damn, it’s cold,” Hosea shudders as he takes half a step through, touching the walls of the cave, “Should’ve gotten a thicker coat,”

“You’re just getting old,” Arthur teases, and Hosea laughs briefly, scuffling the bottom of his feet against the slope of the cave entrance.

Arthur watches curiously as the sound of stones rolling, echoing and echoing and finally fading, “Sounds deep,” Hosea mumbles thoughtfully, patting his coat and turning to Arthur, “You got a smoke?”

Arthur huffs again, sluggishly digging into the pocket of his jacket for his box of cigarettes, “You know, it might help to buy your own,”

“Why would I do that when I’ve got my own personal cigarette bank?” Hosea replies innocently, “ ‘sides, it’s time you make up for all the cigarettes you stole off of me,”

“That was fifteen years ago, let it go,” Arthur rolls his eyes, heaving a sigh.

“I hold no grudges, only scores,” Hosea smiles, taking the offered cigarette. Arthur pops one between his lips too, striking another match and lighting for Hosea, and then himself. Just as he throws away the burning match, Charles returns, lantern lit in hand and rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Ready?” Arthur asks, and Charles nods, taking initiative and stepping into the cave, shuddering as the cold hit him.

The cave is damp and smelly, like the a mixture between rotting meat and Lagras’ swamps. Arthur folds his elbow around his nose as he coughs from the stink. The floor squelches underneath their boots as they reach the end of the slope, and the cave expands well beyond what their lantern illuminates.

There’s an ominous dripping sound that echoes through the cave, the sound of rustling wings somewhere, and Arthur thinks bats to himself bitterly. He had always hated those clawing, shrieking little bastards, ever since one almost scratched his chin off his face; and the scars never really faded from that event.

Charles moves front and center, seeing as he’s the one with the light. The ground is an odd shade of reddish gold, almost silvery with a twinkle, a mountain of copper no doubt. He wonders to himself how no one (namely Cornwall) had discovered this mine yet.

The ground slopes suddenly, and Charles jerks backwards just as Arthur catches Hosea when he starts to slip, lifting him by the elbow and stabilizing him with a laugh, but not an unkind one “You alright there?”

“Ahh, I’m fine. Floor’s slippery,” The older man mumbles as he waves him off, and Arthur claps his bicep, careful not to cause him to slip.

“Told ya, you weren’t up for this trip, should reside yourself to rabbits,” Arthur says with a teasing smile, and Hosea passes him a feigned annoyed glance.

“At least I know how to hunt them,” He shoots back, and Arthur groans.

“It was one time,” Arthur whines and Hosea opens his mouth to respond, before Charles hushes them.

“I think I saw something,” he whispers, and the other two men quickly snap their attention to their surroundings. Arthur stares, hard, at the darkness, watching as it morphed into shapes; none that are recognizable, but look like things. They walk carefully down the slippery floor, and something heavy lands on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Aw, fucking hell,” He groans quietly, as not to scare the wolf if it is close by, “Just bought the damn thing,” he shakes his head in disappointment, wiping the gooey substance off his shoulder, then, in true childish matter, wiping it on Hosea’s coat.

Hosea scrunches his face in disgust, slapping Arthur’s chest with the back of his hand, but does not comment as they continue on.

Arthur settles his finger to hover over the trigger, ready to take the wolf down and get a nice hot meal and bath in Strawberry, then take a long nap in their hotel. Get the hell out of this messy, coppery cave.

That’s a nice thought, the only one that had kept him going. The wolf’s pelt and carcass would give them enough money to keep on going for the end of the week, and maybe, if the circumstances are right, the Trapper could sew him something with the pelt.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur catches a glimpse of something. A streak of pale white moving, “psst, hey,” he beckons, raising his rifle towards where the streak had gone, “think I saw it go that-a-way,”

They silently move towards where the wolf had gone, and Arthur keeps his rifle to his shoulder, waiting to see just another glimpse of the wolf. The pointed rocks that the lantern illuminate shadow most of the distance in front of them, and just behind the largest one, they hear it. One, almost whispery whimper. The rock is curved around it self, shining red against the soft light of the burning kerosene.

Charles walks around the rock, then walks to the other side and shakes his head, hand touching the wall, “How did it get in there?”

“Looks like we need to climb it,” Hosea says quietly, and Arthur nods.

“I’ll get it,” Arthur whispers, and Hosea nods with a sigh, squeezing his shoulder as Arthur slings his rifle onto his back and fits his leg between a wedge in the rocks. He heaves himself upwards, jumping and hanging onto the edge of the rocky structure, silently thanking God for how stable it is.

“Be careful,” Charles whispers as Arthur pulls himself up, spurs jingling as he scrapes his foot against the rock, rifle almost slipping off his shoulder, but catching on his elbow by its strap.

Arthur peers down, frowning when he spots another slope heading downwards.

There is no way that the wolf had headed any other direction, they saw it, they heard it. It must have slid down further. He turns carefully, about to put his thoughts into words when he hears a loud bang, and Charles calls for him.

“We got it!” Charles yells, and Arthur’s eyebrows knit in confusion, he turns back to see where the wolf had escaped from.

“Come on down, Arthur, lets get the _hell_ out this stinky place,” Hosea says, and Arthur watches as Charles hands the lantern to Hosea, and then heaving the dead wolf to his shoulder.

“Right, then,” Arthur mumbles to himself, taking one final look at the sloped ground behind the rocks. Something flashes at the base of it, and he squints at the darkness, catching the sight of another white streak running away, “hey, is there any possibility for there to be two of them wolves?”

“No,” Charles answers, “least, I don’t _think_ so,”

“Why’re you asking?” Hosea asks as he steps closer, “Is there something there?”

“I think-” Arthur sighs, looking down to Hosea, “I think I saw-” he doesn’t get to finish, something hard hitting his side, knocking the breath and balance out of him.

He looses his footing, feeling only something sharp against his neck before he feels the ground hit his shoulder, hard, and he groans. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he doesn’t think opening them will help anyone.

There’s a throb in his head, must have hit somewhere, and an ebb of heat down his neck. Everything sounds muffled for a moment before he registers the sound of Hosea’s voice calling for him.

“What the hell,” Arthur groans again, forcing his eyes to open as he stares up at Hosea’s concerned face, “What was _that_?”

“I don’t know,” Hosea whispers, helping Arthur up, “But it doesn’t feel good, we got what we came for, come on, lets get out of here,” he urges and Arthur wasn’t going to complain. His head hurts and shoulder aches, it was a good six foot fall, which wouldn’t sound like much if whatever slammed into him hadn’t sent him flying off his feet.

“Arthur, are you-” Charles starts, but something tugs him backwards, making him slip and fall down to his stomach. One second later, before anyone can register what had happened, Charles gets dragged into the darkness as he lets out a confused ‘woah!’. The two men watch in disbelief, then, slowly, like morning dew that turns into heavy rain, realization hits them.

“Charles!” Arthur shouts, ignoring the pain in his body and standing up hurriedly, taking out his pistol and pointing it at the darkness of the cave, turning around wildly as echoes of footsteps circle around them, like little petter-patter of raindrops, but heavier, nails getting tapped against the floor.

Hosea flattens his back against Arthur’s, holding the lantern high above both their heads in effort of seeing further out. There’s two gunshots that ring, successively.

Arthur notices the flashes and grabs Hosea’s sleeve, egging him to move with him. They stomp forward, tense and ready for another attack, Arthur doesn’t lower his pistol at any point, aiming it at every shape that looks vaguely alive. “Charles?” He whispers, unsure whether whatever is attacking them is attracted by sound. He’d rather not risk it.

“Stay back,” Charles’ voice echoes.

“Are you hurt,” Arthur asks ignoring Charles’ command, keeping his voice low. The silence that stretches doesn’t sit well with him.

“I’ll be fine,” Charles responds, and Arthur is about a hundred and twenty percent sure he isn’t. They stand for a moment longer, Hosea silent behind Arthur’s back, no sound around them. Each breath feels heavy in his chest, and as they finally begin to see Charles’ body, it doesn’t ease.

Charles is lying on his side, one leg stretched outwards, and the other curled against his torso. Arthur quickens his pace, almost leaving behind Hosea’s light when something scurries in front of him, the sound of nails tapping become loud and dangerously close. He jerks back just as he notices the white shape disappearing into the darkness, somewhere behind Charles.

He chokes on his own breath in shock, wincing when his neck burned. He brings up a hand to clasp over his neck, eyebrows shooting into his forehead when he feels a warm liquid coat his palm. Blood, he’s bleeding?

Before he can give it too much thought, Hosea’s grabs his arm, tugging harshly with an odd yelp.

The lantern clatters to the ground, glass breaking but fire remaining flickering. Arthur turns to him, and Hosea’s grasp loosens as he falls to the ground with a thud. Arthur shoots by instinct, aiming for a general height. There’s a hiss, and Arthur would take it as a good sound, if it weren’t for Hosea’s body starting to get dragged out of the circle of light.

Hosea shouts something, pulling out his revolver and shooting as Arthur struggles to land any bullet somewhere helpful. Whatever is dragging Hosea hisses again, pushing the older man to the side, throwing his aim out the window. One of his bullets ring close to Arthur’s head, and he flinches away, ducking to the side.

Before he can start shooting again, something sharp digs into his ankle, and he shouts a curse as he feels the ground slip from beneath him; only catching a glimpse of a lanky limb coming his way before the world turns dark, and screaming is the last thing that reaches his ears as he succumbs to the pain that had rippled from his head to his toes.


	2. Chapter 2

His eyes snapped open, jerking him out of the dreamless sleep he’d fallen into. His hand twitches instinctively as he stares at the pure darkness that stretches ahead.

The memories slowly file in, playing like one of those shows Mary-Beth had dragged him to. Arthur pushes himself to sit, not failing to notice the ache that sears his right arm. That wasn’t important, no, Hosea and Charles were. Last time he’d left them, they were both under attack, and he’d gone and gotten himself knocked out.

He fumbles his pockets for a moment, knowing that there was no way to traverse this cave without light. He doesn’t know what time it is, but he guesses it doesn’t matter, the cave would remain dark at any hour.

He finally feels the scratch of cardboard against his fingers, pulling out the match box and hastily pushing the box out, pulling a match carefully as not to drop the others. Arthur strikes the match, and from the dim lighting, he sees only rocks and damp floors.

He stands slowly, entire body lethargic and calling for sleep. Looking around, he can see several archways, leading to different spots no doubt. He can only guess where Charles and Hosea are.

The match starts to burn his finger, and he drops it and strikes another one. He’ll need to find a lantern or torch soon, make one if he gets too desperate. For now, he closes his eyes and tries to guess correctly.

He doesn’t know what, or who attacked him, but it weren’t no wolf, that’s for sure. He didn’t get a good look, but he thinks he remember it having hands.

Whatever it is, it’s unknown, and he doesn’t know when it’s coming back. He walks through the first archway to his left, careful not to slip on the damp floors, throwing away the match when it gets too short and lighting another.

Something strong smelling hits his nose, and he gags as he heads deeper and deeper down. He folds one arm over his nose, scrunching his nose and squinting against the smell. It smells familiar but stronger than he had ever smelled.

Rotten flesh.

Like meat that had gone several days bad, or that one time he and John had to move rotting corpses out of shed before they moved in. He doesn’t stop, even though every nerve in his body starts to tremble as he steps deeper and deeper into the cave.

Something cracks under his foot, and he looks down but before he can get any good look; his finger stings. He sucks a breath through his teeth, dropping his hand from his face and taking out another match, lighting it and blinking as the room brightens.

The sight in front of him is nothing he expected nor hoped for. His heart races as several mutilated bodies pile in front of him, some looking years old, and some only weeks or days, all in some state of decay. The smell somehow gets stronger, and Arthur relents to the churn in his stomach, retching as he takes a step back.

Something cracks under his foot, again, and he looks down, this time; yelping when he sees the skeleton’s hand, fingers now crushed.

He throws away the burning match, hurrying up the slippery archway and heading head first into darkness. He doesn’t care if he slams face first into a wall, he needs to get out, whatever is here, it’s not friendly, and it seems to be hungry.

He needs to get Hosea and Charles first. His heart is in full support of the notion, but his mind screams at him to get himself out. But he can’t, his heart, in this case, is correct. Arthur knows, if he abandoned Hosea and Charles, they’re as good as dinner.

He finally calms down, only when the smell of decaying body subsides, and the thick swampy smell of the cave returns. He breathes harshly, bending over himself and closing his eyes, even if the darkness does the job for him. He’s thankful he didn’t have a lantern, from what little he saw, it was a terrible sight, one that’s forever burnt into his skull.

Bile rises in his throat as he thinks of the first crack, how it must have been another bone, and he doesn’t fight it as it climbs into his mouth. He spits and gags, trying to be as silent as he could be while throwing up.

He gasps as he forces his body to straighten, shivers threatening to run down his spine as he collects himself slowly. He’d seen body before, he’d made corpses out of people, but nothing could compare to what he saw. He didn’t tear off half a man’s face, or rip arms out of their sockets, or break jaws completely off their skulls.

He blinks the tears that had wet his eyes, spitting one last time as he reaches shakily for another match. He lights it hesitantly, half expecting a corpse to be under his feet, staring at him with dead eyes. To his relief, only reddish silver rocks appear, and he rolls his shoulder and stretches his neck before heading down the second archway.

He sniffs the air first, shuddering when he smelt nothing. He takes a careful step, hand falling down to his remaining pistol, waiting for something. The archway wasn’t as short as the other one, it didn’t smell like death, but there was something thick about the smell, like it’s weighing down on his lungs.

He sucks in another breath, forcing himself to move forward. The match runs out.

Another one lights, and he goes on, the air getting increasingly thicker. Just as he begins to think the hallway stretches on forever, his foot hits air, and gravity weighs him down like an anvil as he starts to free fall.

The match flies out of his hand, but he hangs onto the match box tightly, a scream escaping him as his heart catches at his throat, and he spins in air.

The air doesn’t enter his nose, just hits his face as he falls blindly. Spinning and spinning like a rolling stone, his heart is hammering so hard that he thinks his ribcage will break under the rhythm.

He forces in breath, a scream lodging itself in his throat, and before it can leave; he hits something cold. It sinks under his weight, folds around him and only when he tries to breath and chokes does he realize. Water.

He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them slowly, looking around, anxiety boiling under his skin as shapes mold around him. Shapes and shapes, he can’t see anything except what his mind supplies.

He doesn’t know how deep he is, and his lungs already burn as he forces his feet to kick out, hands flailing trying to swim upwards. The water is just as thick as the air above, and it feels like it’s forcing him down, trying to drown him as he fights against it.

His hand hits something, and he coils on himself, ready for the worst. A shark? Something that could eat him, maybe one of those things that attacked them. Maybe it’s something that nobody had ever seen before.

His chest ebbs, throat tightening around itself as he forces his body to relax, forcing himself to continue swimming.

He ignores the fear tickling his blood, swimming and swimming, trying to get out of the thick water. His head is starting to feel faint, limbs getting heavier as he swims further and further up. The water slithers around him, something shackles his feet, or maybe that’s just his mind.

His hands refuse to move anymore, and his mouth opens reflexively as his lungs jerk inside his ribs, searching for air and choking on swampy water. The sounds of water rushing by, filling his ears, drying his eyes as his body gives up. Arthur looks up, darkness above, darkness around him. Like he had been dropped in a pint of ink, or the endless abyss.

He stills, residing himself to death. Drowning wasn’t how he expected to die, he thought maybe he would get shot, or hang. The best case he could think of is dying as an old man, living to be Hosea’s age, maybe finding someone who would want to stand by him just as he is.

Hosea..._Hosea_.

The image of dead bodies flash behind his eyes, and he blinks, lungs still empty as his skin tingles with lack of oxygen. Hosea could be hurt, Charles is hurt. They need him, he can’t just leave them at the hand of whatever the fuck got them in this situation.

He’s responsible for them, he was the one who suggested the hunt, he’s the one that stuck with it. He dragged them out of the safety of their camp. He’ll be damned if he’s the reason they died, at least without him fighting for their lives.

There’s a small flare, just above his solar plexus, burning lightly and lapping at his insides. He needs to move, he won’t drown.

_Not today._

Heavily, he kicks out, the invisible shackle that had bound his foot and dragged him down no longer there, a figment of his imagination that disappears as stubbornness harbors in his mind. He kicks and kicks, moving his arms and reaching out, hoping to feel air against his fingertips.

It happens between one kick and another, a gust of wind filtering between his fingers, and before he can register it, mind slow with lack of oxygen, he’s above water, breaking the surface and coughing as air slaps him. He floats for a moment, gasping for breath, shivering as his neck tickles. He doesn’t have his matchbox anymore, and the realization dawns on him slowly, everything feeling sluggish as he swims in a random direction, no longer knowing which way is west. He starts to wade in a random direction, hoping to find land somewhere.

Soon enough, he hits something, knees scraping against stones, palms landing harshly on the ground. It’s a relief, his muscles had struggled through only on adrenaline, and he falls heavily onto the ground, feet still in the water.

He closes his eyes just for a moment, reigning in the fear and panic that threatened to swell in his stomach. He had almost died, sure, it wasn’t the first time. But, it was the first time in a strange cave while he’s totally blind.

He sighs, coughing one last time as he fights the sleep that lurked on the edges of his brain. He isn’t safe, Hosea and Charles aren’t either, he can’t rest. He needs to get his ass up, he needs to _fight_, he needs to get them to safety, _back home_.

He moves slowly, carefully, saving what little energy he has as he jams his foot under him, pushing himself onto his hands and knees. He can do it, he wouldn’t give up now. Not now.

He sways when he stands, shadows twisting as he takes in large breathes of thick air, better than water at the very least. He’s relatively blind, but as he stares into darkness and the seconds tick by, it begins to be a bit easier to distinguish what is what. His eyes are slowly but surely getting used to the absence of light.

He walks slowly, testing each step in case of another divot that would send him plummeting deeper. He doesn’t know how he’ll get back up to where he was, but he’ll figure it out.

_Somehow_.

  
Nothing eventful happened as Arthur made his way exploring, save for a few run ins with the cave’s walls and the occasional slip here and there. He had started to feel cold though, clothes soaked from the dip he had taken.

But he thinks he might have reached somewhere useful.

There’s just a trickle of light, one very very thin thread poking through a crack in the ceiling up ahead. He relishes it, just for a moment, before he looks around for anything useful. He wished he still had his matches, sighing heavily when he pats his pockets down again and only comes up with a tin of gum. Nothing is in his satchel either, just a few waterlogged papers and herbs.

His journal too, probably ruined, but he doesn’t have time to feel neither sad nor annoyed. The situation at hand is more concerning than a few written down thoughts and sketches. He shakes his head, thumbing a cigarette as he stares up at the twinkle of light.

A beckon of false hope, that’s all it had been. There was nothing he could to about it, nothing he can do _with_ it. He just wishes he could harness it, somehow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've recently discovered that I don't know how to write horror.

The seconds tick by seemingly at a turtles pace, or Uncle’s on a normal day.

There is nothing around, Arthur thought he might have seen a passing shadow sprinting beside him, but there was nothing when he stares for a good thirty seconds at the darkness.

His pocket watch is in his hand now, its ticking serving to ground him. Time is passing, he is moving, the white streaks hadn’t reappeared. There is…nothing

_There is nothing. _

It’s not reassuring, not even in the slightest. The wind doesn’t blow, no hiding crickets chirp, there’s only him, and water dripping from the ceiling. His muscles are pulled tight in anticipation, his eyes shifting from one shape to another, waiting, waiting.

Something will jump at him, eventually. He’ll be waiting, he’ll be ready. His hand is twitching by his side, and his feet are light against the ground as he starts to walk faster. Something will jump at him. Now, behind him, staring at his neck. It must be mustn't it? He turns suddenly, and the water underneath him splashes as his feet twist. He stares, ready.

_Nothing_.

Feeling a bit ridiculous, Arthur turns back, shaking his shoulder and ignoring the pinprick feeling spreading across the back of his neck up to his head. There is nothing, save for his paranoia. He tests the step in front of him before he moves, and something akin to a step hits the tip of his boot. He scuffles his boot against it, and it appears to be smooth, or at least, smooth enough to walk across.

He steps on it, and his toe slams harshly across another step as he moves to walk. He winces, opening his mouth in a silent groan as he hops on one foot comically. “Fuck, Fuck fuckfuck” he whispers as quietly as he can, his hand cradling his foot. After a moment, Arthur lowers his foot slowly, this time, testing the distance between him and the step with his heel.

Stairs, it seemed.

He could get back up from where he came.

A small smile dances at his lips, and he climbs the stairs carefully, testing each step and readjusting himself once the walls became close enough to lean against. Something carved stairs in this cave, and he guesses that something was the same thing that attacked them. Same thing that mutilated those people.

He shivers as the image resurfaces, and he’s quick to try and stuff it down in the depth of his mind. After all, no one was better at repressing memories than him.

With every step, the ground seems to curve more and more, what began as a semi straight surface now feels more concave under his foot. It’s slippery too but oddly, nothing had dripped on Arthur in a good while.

He stumbles on one particular step, and doesn’t catch himself on the other. His hands comes up to break his fall but to his horror, there was nothing to break his fall on. He feels himself lose a fight against gravity, and he claws at the stone wall for a moment as he repeats not again, not again in his mind, over and over.

Thankfully, his hands finally latch onto the edge, and his whole body thuds against the wall as his shoulder threatens to pop out of its socket under his weight. He groans, right arm feeling heavy as he swings it, grappling at the edge of the stone and slowly pulling himself up.

His arms sear in pain under the pressure and exertion but he ignores it in favor of not plummeting again. His heart beats an aggressive rhythm in his chest, jumping at his throat till he thinks he might throw up just from how fast it’s racing. Once he’s waist up, he sags and crawls the rest, lying on the floor as some type of liquid laps at his neck, wetting his hair once more.

He breathes, closing his eyes and allowing his body just a moment of rest. Today’s been a hard day, he wishes it was just one of his nightmares, he wishes to close his eyes and open them to find Grimshaw at his ears for not hunting enough, or Molly and Dutch having a row as usual. He would trade this day for anything.

If he could just wish it enough, maybe it’ll happen.

_Tap . _

His eyes fly open, but he lies unmoving as he strains his ears to hear, concentrating as Hosea taught him.

_Tap, tap. _

_Tap, tap, tap._ It’s getting closer, whatever the sound is, it’s climbing up the stairs. Arthur rolls to his side as slowly as possible, drawing out his pistol and aiming it vaguely towards where the sound is echoing from.

_Tap...tap….tap_. Slower, now. Calculating.

Arthur inhales sharply as a shape moves in front of him, almost glowing in the darkness just from how pale it is. Arched back, splitting off into four irregular looking...limbs?

_Tap_

The shape pauses, it’s back arches even more, and Arthur feels dread rush up to his brain just as fast as his blood. He redirects his aim, which had been several inches off, and pulls the trigger. 

The shot is almost blinding, and the shriek that emits almost deafens him. He stumbles sideways, and as he blinks the bright spots away, he catches sight of a thin wrist swiping at him. He cringes back, dizzy from the sudden burst of light and action, he stumbles back another step, his back hitting a wall.

Fear forms a lump in his throat as the shape jumps at him, and he sinks to the floor just as it’s claws dig into the stone above him, where his neck had been just moments before, and small pebbles crumble on top of his head.

The...monster? Shrieks again, and Arthur groans as his eardrums feel one second away from bursting. He digs the barrel of his pistol against the monster’s body, pulling the trigger rapidly.

The monster steps back, pulling it’s claws out the wall and shrieking loudly again. It doesn’t sound pained. His chest tightens in panic as he realizes, he just pissed this thing off.

He hurries to his knees, crawling from under it and standing as fast as he can, hand skimming across the walls. He hears the tapping as he runs, just behind him, and he’s tempted to look back but what will that do? He’s in absolute darkness, and he’s only running on what limited eyesight he has. His hand escapes the wall, and his heart flutters for a moment as he follows the cavity, running with one hand outstretched, the other clutching the empty pistol like a useless life line.

He should reload, he really needs to. He glances behind him stupidly, and he chokes on his own spit when he sees the white monster galloping towards him. Its tapping nails are overshadowed by how labored his breathing is.

Just as he feared, he feels the walls crush his fingers and forcefully bend his arm back towards his chest before he feels it slam against his cheek. He falls from the impact, freezing when the monster jumped above him, nails tapping loudly beside his ears. He shudders, kicking himself from under it, rolling to his stomach.

The monster digs its nails in his shoulder, forcing him onto his back again as the impossibly sharp tips carve out his flesh. He muffles his screams, pursing his lips stubbornly as he resolves to kicking the monster off him. It hovers unaffected as he repeatedly tries to kick it, then, he feels his foot staple to the ground as another set of its sharp nails dig just above his ankle, forcing him to stop moving.

_This_ time, he screams loudly.

Arthur thrashes underneath the monster as it hoots, and in his mind, a terrified part of him knows it’s calling for its friends. He’s their next dinner.

There are echoing hoots, all around him as he cries out against the nails in his skin. He can feel tears pushing behind his eyes, he punches the hand stabbing his shoulder, sobbing when he did nothing but increase the pain. He relents, falling onto his back and dropping his hand.

Leather skims across his palm, and something pops into his mind.

_His knife. _

He doesn’t give it much thought, there is really nothing to lose. He pulls it out, swinging it at the monster above him. It lands just above where the nails dig into his shoulder, strangely vibrating once the metal dug into the meat of the monster.

The nails abruptly pull from his shoulder, and he’s yanked forwards by the knife as his foot jerks in pain as the nails dig deeper, fully through now and scratching across his bone. The monster shrieks like a thousand bats at his ears, and he pulls the knife out just as it strikes at his face. He dodges it narrowly, nails dragging at the side of his face, cutting through his ears.

Arching away from the pain, Arthur grits his teeth hard enough that he feels like they’re almost at their breaking point. He raises the knife above him again, this time digging it into the monster’s thin torso, not waiting for it to shriek before he pulls it out and stabs another area. Again and again, almost manically, positively driven by pain and longing for survival, he stabs the monster over and over, its blood splattering across his face and hands, but he doesn’t stop.

He keeps at it until it gives one last, long shriek before it slumps forward, landing beside him, its nails straining his foot and forcing him to raise it so the bone wouldn’t break under the odd angle.

Breathing out a sigh, he wipes his face with his healthy arm, sitting up carefully and blinking away the spots in front of his eyes as he slowly tries to pry out the nails from his leg.

He tugs his foot downwards, almost passing out when tendrils of pain shot up from his leg. Arthur falls backwards again, biting on his fist as he fits his other leg against the oddly shaped limb that’s stabbing his leg. He takes in one heavy breath, holding it as he slams his heel against the limb, tugging the nails out of his leg.

Squeezing his eyes shut and back a whimper, Arthur feels the nails dig back in slightly. Another kick, that should do it, then...then he’ll figure something out.

He bites harder down on his knuckles, trying to redirect the pain. Readying himself, Arthur breathes through his nose several times before he yanks his foot and kicks the limb at the same time, a sickening teeth-gritting sound echoes as his foot falls limp, free of the nails and Arthur finds that biting doesn’t help anymore.

Gasping, his hand flies out of his mouth and grasps at the ground helplessly, fingers curling as he holds back a scream, shoulders shaking as his good hand uselessly squeezes his thigh.

He cries, shamelessly so, biting his lips to muffle the sobs as everything crashes on top of him. His leg hurts like hell, his shoulder no better, and there’s a sinking feeling in his gut that begs him to roll over and die. He doesn’t think he can go on, he’s too tired, too pained, everything is weighing him down.

He can just lie there, and soon enough he’ll bleed out. He tried. He did, he fought against the water, and killed one of the beasts and he went on and on blindly. But he lost, he can’t go on anymore.

If he just closes his eyes, he’ll drift away, he’ll die in his sleep most probably. Arthur’s eyes flutter shut, and he forces his body to relax, the ebb of pain that thuds against his ankle and swells his foot becomes steadily distant as his brain starts to get fuzzy. The sound of dripping water is no longer distinguishable behind his steady breathing, the sound of his heart slowing to a regulated pace.

He jerks awake, again, and pain slaps him across the face as he gasps, stopping midway as a hand lands on his chest. Panicked, Arthur slaps it way, pulling himself backwards from it, images of star white skin and sharp claws fresh on his mind. “Arthur,” Hosea’s voice whispers hurriedly, only then does it occur to him, the darkness around him is because his eyes are closed.

“Arthur!” Hosea’s again and he snaps his eyes open, reaching out for him instinctively, and reassuring arms wrap around him carefully. He shudders as Hosea’s warmth wraps around him, and his surroundings slowly filter in.

There’s light, the world is no longer pitch black, and Hosea is hugging him tightly. Something unfolds in Arthur’s chest, and he hugs Hosea with all he can muster, even his shoulder feels three seconds away from falling off like a broken log.

“You’re alive,” Arthur croaks, unashamed as his voice breaks. He was worried, he was sick with worry, and somewhere deep in his chest, the white limbs of the monster that hurt him twist, and an image of what could have happened unravels.

Knowing what’s out there digs and seeds dread into his chest, and his hold tightens for just a moment. Hosea notices.

“We’re both alive,” he says quietly, and Arthur nods, happy to hear it even though he knows it’s true, “And once we get Charles, we’ll get out of here and go back home,” it’s stated as a fact, but Arthur notices the hint of wistfulness in his tone.

“Charles?” Arthur asks, pulling away from Hosea. Somehow, the nap he’d taken had made him more tired, but the fear that had sunk into his bones is wiped away.

“I searched two of the chambers, found you in one, found a few mining equipment in the other,” Hosea explains, “Got those lanterns from them, this pickax too,” he points behind them, where two lanterns lay lit a few feet away from each other.

“You found that room that has six chambers?” he asks, but doesn’t let Hosea answer before he goes on , “One of them had piles of bodies inside, the one you found me in probably was the one I almost drowned in,” Hosea raises a concerned eyebrow, eyes scanning him again, but before the man could go on another examination, Arthur waves him off “Wasn’t even that bad, just fell into a pool of water and swam out,” which isn’t exactly a truth nor a lie, Hosea didn’t need to know that, though.

“You killed one of those...things, saw it laying beside you, almost turned tail till I saw you,” Hosea says instead, stepping back a moment and for the first time, Arthur takes a look at his foot.

Hosea had cut his pant leg from the knee down, using that strip of fabric to wrap around the puncture wounds. What once was a light blue is now stained in dark feathered out splotches of red. He can’t see his shoulder, but the tightness around it tells him that something is stopping the bleeding, which is enough till they can get themselves out of here.

“Yeah, tried to shoot it but that seemed to piss it off,” Arthur answers, “stabbed it when it started attacking me, couldn’t reload in time”

“The one that chased me didn’t die when I shot it,” Hosea says offhandedly,, digging into his satchel and pulling out a bottle of brandy, and Arthur stares at him worriedly, “managed to escape it and tricked it into falling off a cliff,” the older man grins proudly, “maybe they’re like alligators,”

“I don’t know,” Arthur mumbles, taking the bottle from Hosea’s hand and gulping down a good bit, wincing as the alcohol burns down his throat.

“Your ears needs a stitching, but I think,” Hosea pulls out another strip of unfamiliar looking cloth, “this should hold for a few hours,” he continues as he wraps the cloth around Arthur’s head, pinning his shredded ear against his head. He had honestly forgot about it, but the stinging was present and as soon as he remembered, a throb of pain stabbed at his brain. Arthur winches, “look at that, giving John a run for his money,” Hosea jokes, squeezing Arthur’s healthy shoulder.

“That messed up?” Arthur asks bitterly, fingers coming up to touch his jaw, pulling back when it started stinging. Huh, must’ve gotten hit harder than he thought.

“Ain’t no pretty boy anymore, that’s for sure” Hosea hums and Arthur rolls his eyes but his chest lightens even more as Hosea eyes him, “You rest up, for a bit, I think I have some water and a bar of chocolate on me.”

“I’m fine,” Arthur shrugs, pushing himself up heavily, “We need to find Charles before it’s too late,” he says, gritting his teeth when his muscles protested, and an invisible anvil lands on his shoulder, begging him to stay down. Hosea scoffs softly, patting his shoulder as he gently leads him back down, “Maybe-maybe not,” Arthur says, letting his body drop as it pleased and resting against the floor.

“You aren’t seeing yourself, just rest up a bit,” Hosea urges, shoving a flask between his hands, “We’ll go find Charles in a bit,”


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur doesn’t know how or when he had fallen asleep, evidently he had, and when his eyes flutter open; it’s to the sounds of loud scraping. His head is sluggish with sleep, and his entire body protests against moving. He groans quietly, tempted to close his eyes, but something urges him to look around. He cants his head to the side, to put his mind to rest, and spots Hosea holding his rifle vigilantly, eyes scanning the depth in front of them, where the lantern’s light does not reach.

He’s reminded where exactly he is when his eyes fall on the ceiling of the cave and spots a white shape directly above him. His heart stutters, and he chokes on his breath, sitting up, eyes trained upwards as he stares at the thing.

Multiple of them, he remembers. This one looks almost exactly as the one he’d killed, lanky limbs stretched beside it like a spider, back arched almost impossibly, like the wood of a finely carved bow; except this one is ugly and lacking color.

And it’s a living, breathing, man-eating thing.

“Hosea,” Arthur whispers, sparing a glance to the older man, and finding him staring at the same spot, “Don’t shoot,” 

Hosea nods slowly, tearing his gaze away from the creature above, “Sleeping?” 

“My guess is waiting,” Arthur replies, “Should get a move on, ‘fore they surround us,” he suggests, and Hosea hums. Arthur slowly slides his eyes down from the ceiling down to the second lantern, the first being picked up by Hosea.

The pickaxe is in Hosea’s hand, and Arthur watches as he gives it a few swings before looking at it with an unimpressed frown, “If I swing this thing, my shoulder will surely pop,” he says quietly and Arthur smiles despite himself and the situation. 

“Told ya, you’re getting old,” Arthur says as he stands, careful on his injured leg. Hobbling over to the lone lantern, a hiss echoes above them, and Arthur freezes, halfway bent so he could grab the lantern. There’s a single, long hoot like a demented pigeon had choked it out, then, something large sprints just at the border of the light.

He doesn’t move, even though every muscle begs him to sprint the other way. Arthur watches, waits, breath caught in his lungs in an attempt to stay silent. He closes his eyes, focuses on his surroundings.

He tunes out the sound of his breathing, but he hears his heartbeat, there’s water dripping nearby, rustling wings, Hosea’s gentle footsteps as he paces the length of the lightened area and then, finally, the sound of the pitter-patter of footsteps. Like tapping your nails against a window, but rapid, hurried, never stopping.

It’s to their left.

He turns slowly, hand still hovering over the lantern. His gunbelt is empty, pistols not in any of their holsters and he looks down at his waist. “Shit,” he whispers, patting himself down for a weapon, “Hosea, where’s my knife?”

Hosea glances at him, lowering his rifle and reaching behind him. He places the knife on the ground slowly, then kicks it towards Arthur. The metal skitters on the soggy ground, Arthur grabbing it as soon as it’s an arms reach away. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t feel safe enough or sure enough that it won’t kill him.

He grabs the lantern carefully and raises it towards where the sound had come from, knife tucked neatly against his palm. Something shuffles just at the edge of the light, long inky nails dragging and drawing grey lines into the stone.

Arthur cringes at the sound, heartbeat increasing as his suspicions confirmed. He blows a breath and takes a step backward. He has no idea how he killed the other one, and he’s in no shape to fight it. If fighting one had almost torn his shoulder off his torso and stabbed his leg, not to mention what it had done to his face, then what would fighting two or three be like?

Certain death, definitely. 

They don’t even know how many are lurking around the cave.

“Hosea, walk with me,” Arthur says, waiting as Hosea slung picked up the pickaxe that was resting against his knee. Once close enough, Arthur starts leading them, Hosea’s back to his own, both ready to fight or flee.

In the distance, something clicks repeatedly, the span of silence between each one shortening as they walk deeper into the darkness. Hesitantly, with a feeling of dread creeping up his neck, Arthur’s gaze goes skywards and looks away almost instantly when he sees the several white vaguely spider-shaped creatures above them.

“Jesus,” Hosea whispers, his back bumping against Arthur’s, “They’re like bat’s,”

“I ain’t too sure they’re as easy to kill,” Arthur mumbles, mostly to himself as he contemplates going back to where they came from. Just as his mind starts to wager that they should and that walking right into their den, where it looks like dozens of them are snoozing or resting is a horrible idea, they hear a scream.

A very _human_ scream.

Then, several hoots echo, and Arthur glances up to see the creatures skittering off, their pale shapes fading into the abyss before them. A shiver runs down his spine, realizing that he was right, that the hoots were calls for dinner. It doesn’t occur to him until Hosea curses, following it with “That must be Charles!”, that they had been three men to enter the cave, and that before his nap, they had arranged to find their third.

A part of him wants to tell Hosea that it’s a lost cause, that Charles is most probably dead or severely injured and it would weigh them down, not to mention dig them deeper into danger. But that thought was quickly stamped down as every single conversation and memory punches against his brain. Charles is his friend, maybe even best friend. They hadn’t always been close but he saved him, it was how they met in the first place. Charles helped him get back into hunting and spoke to him about his history which most of the camp still conspire about. Charles trusts him, and he wouldn’t throw away a life just for his own.

There are several shrieks in the distance, and a sense of urgency courses through him, adrenaline warming his blood as he tightens his hold on the knife, starting to sprint towards where the creatures had gone.

Hosea is half a step behind, no protests from his end as they run unknowingly towards what very well could be their death. But they won’t die as cowards, and that’s enough for them.

One of the creatures hisses at the men, and Arthur pauses as it runs away, a thought occurred to him, perhaps too slow to comfortably admit it. “They’re afraid of light,” he states, and Hosea hums, grabbing onto his forearm as they continue their path, little braver now.

At least they know something.

But it’s not just that, is it? It’s their gateway out of this, their only known weapon. They can hold their own if everything else fails. Arthur sends a prayer, a small, poorly worded prayer to a God he doesn’t know is present or not, that their lanterns won’t break. That they don’t plummet, that if anyone has to die, it wouldn’t be Charles or Hosea and that it would preferably be the creatures. 

The cave goes on and on, and to think that its entrance barely fit Charles’ frame. They run on seemingly stretching stamina, Arthur hoping that Charles isn’t just a corpse, that he doesn’t have to carry a maimed body back home. Because he will, if he has to, because-because-

Because no one deserves to rot down here, join the pile those monsters made. Least of all Charles. 

The ground dips underneath them, and Arthur can’t help but gasp as he crashes face-first onto the ground. His brain had frozen, breath stuck in his throat as he waits for the water to crush him down. It’s a second later that he feels Hosea’s hands grapple at his shoulder, pulling him up as his face begins to throb. Arthur’s hands were still clamped around the knife and lantern, thankfully, he had landed with his limbs sprawled. Arthur didn’t want to sport a self-induced stab wound. Not if he wants to help Charles and get the three of them out alive.

“Jesus, Arthur, get up, get up,” Hosea urges, and Arthur blinks as he allows Hosea to pull him to his knees. Hosea is staring somewhere over his head, fear flashing in his eyes, thin pupils darting around. 

Whatever he’s seeing, Arthur thinks he’s better off without. He doesn’t turn, grabbing Hosea’s jacket and tugging him so they’d move. Hosea blinks, looking back at Arthur, face pale, eyes wide and mouth working to form words but none come out.

Hosea looks over his shoulder, to where they just came from, before his jaw sets and he nods, looking at Arthur again, “Charles,” he says and Arthur nods in agreement.

“Charles,” Arthur says.

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Hosea sighs, hands searching his pockets but come up empty. Disappointed, Hosea grabs the lantern from the floor, pickaxe still in hand.

Arthur shakes his shoulder, feeling the unpleasant water dripping down his back. If everything hadn’t smelled so damp and swampy, he’s sure he would have reeked.

They walk carefully, Arthur’s nose reminding him not to get too ahead of himself. The air steadily gets heavier, and with each step their pants become more desperate, pulling as much air as possible. 

With one glance to the ceiling, Arthur shudders when he spots  several of those...monsters… He doesn’t stop, even when his heart starts to feel  weighted with dread, and every fiber in his being screamed at him to turn back. Something is  _ off  _ about the  path they’re heading down. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand, eyes shifting as the light illuminates their surroundings. There is  _ something _ watching them, Arthur is sure.

The cave curves sideways, lines of pale red and several holes dug into the wall. There’s one claw, bloodied, embedded in the copper stone. Arthur pauses in front of it,  finger curiously tracing the curve of the claw, blood is still dripping down from it. Must be fresh.

H e pulls the claw out, stone rumbling as small pebbles fall onto the ground. Arthur examines the claw closely, it’s almost as big as his forearm. White as a lamb, save for where dark reddish-brown blood lazily rolls down it, from where equally pale skin lays limp and torn. It’s a clean-cut,  the skin jagged only at the end. 

“One of them is hurt” Hosea notes quietly, peering over Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur nods. The claw feels heavy in his hand, straining against his wrist but he feels like he shouldn’t let go of it, like he needs it. The air is heavy, just like it always was, when Arthur fits the claw into his gun belt, where his knife should be.

“Come on, lets go,” Arthur says, heaving a breath as he scans the area around them. Everything looks identical, the rock formations all blend into the walls, and nothing really feels like a new location. It all feels worthless.

He doesn’t voice it though, the feeling that’s slowly choking him, climbing up his chest and blocking his airways. It’s not the thickness of the air, it’s the thickness of the mess they’re in. He wishes he never got wind of the damn wolf and just stayed at camp, be it under Grimshaw’s constant berates for him to work.

Arthur kicks pebbles while they walk, their footsteps squelching under them every so often, Hosea is silent, tense and waiting for the inevitable. The silence they lead isn’t comfortable, it feels sickly close to the silence they shared while traveling back to the gang after hearing news of Blackwater. It nags at the back of his mind, a soft scratch at his skull, that they could end up in a dead end and surrounded by those creatures. They might not even find Charles in the first place.

His eyes travel up to the ceiling again, and he blows a surprised breath when he finds darkness above. The ceiling is no where in sight, just the vast emptiness of an expanding cave. Arthur’s chest get even heavier, and he’s almost physically choking now, with how hard he’s battling to pull in his breaths.

“I think I saw something,” Hosea whispers, fingers tapping on Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur turns, gazing into the darkness that seems to match everything around them. He hadn’t realized how suffocating it is. Hosea’s eyes are searching, scanning the void in front of them, and Arthur focuses, he’s one ear down, but he can still hear the drip of water. Wings shuffling, the gentle pull of breath from Hosea, and-_and_

The ground disappears from under him, and he finds himself whiplashed as he opens his eyes. The lantern in Arthur’s hand crashes to the ground, thankfully staying lit as he watches Hosea jump in equal shock.

He scrambles for the light, only to find himself getting mercilessly tugged backwards, nails digging into the flesh behind his knee as he turns and stares at the shadow of the creature. He looks away, heart leaping like a frog gone wild in his chest, bile already in his throat only from the pure suddenness of the situation. His knife scrapes against the ground as he tries to gain any control, Hosea takes a step towards him, but Arthur shouts at him, “Stay in the light, stay away!”

Finally, when Hosea is nothing but a spot of light in the distance, the creature lets go of his leg and he turns almost immediately, knife protecting his face as he pushes himself backward. It’s absolutely dark, now that he had gotten used to the light, figures dance in his vision. Squinting, his heartbeat in his ear and breath turning deathly quiet, he resorts to the only thing he has.

He closes his eyes entirely, taking a deep breath to calm his heart and _listens. _Again, he strains his ear and pushes past the blinding and deafening fear that thrums through his blood. _Water dripping…_

He takes another deep breath, the darkness feels like it’s pressing against him, a solid state leaning against his back. He’s almost too afraid to open his eyes, visions dancing behind his eyelids of what might await, but he fights through it, shoving the horrid ideas to the back of his mind. _Breath in...breath out._

_Water dripping…_

_Rocks shifting…_

After a moment, he finally picks it up, just behind him, _one long intake of breath_ it sounds like a stifled gasp, almost, and Arthur places a guess that it had been the creature. He moves his foot slowly, bringing it closer to his chest as he presses his empty palm against the muddy floor. It hadn’t attacked.

Yet.

He moves as slow as he can, rolling over to his hands and knees and then pushing himself into a crouched position. He listens again, turning towards where he last heard the sound, eyes finding the spot of light that marks Hosea, and just as he starts to make his first move, he hears the cluttering of nails and barely catches sight of a white blur before he’s knocked sideways.

Arthur crashes into the ground, the back of his hand slamming against a rock. His arms come up to protect his face by nature, and he hears the creature let out a mighty bellow before several sharp jagged nails dig into the meat of his hip.

They don’t quite break his skin, but they hurt just the same as Arthur tries to twist out of its grip.

He swings his knife blindly, feels it catch on something before he’s deafened by another scream, one that freezes his heart. It sounds familiar, in fact, it sounds almost exactly like the one they followed...

He doesn’t get to mull over his mistakes, crushing weight landing on his chest as the creature steps over him, and he could swear that his ribs creaked under the pressure. He puffs out a breath, head feeling light as he swings again, his free hand wrapping around the arm of the creature. He digs his knife as hard as he can into its arm, burying it till the hilt and pulling it out just as the creature rears above him.

Arthur grabs at his chances, rolling from under it despite the lack of breath in his lungs. He crawls as far away as he can manage before the creature catches him again.

He can hear it breathing now, huffing like an angry bull behind him, and he turns just in time to dodge getting speared in the neck by its nails. Stones fly, hitting his cheek as he blinks and shuffles backwards, sliding a foot underneath him. He pushes himself off the ground, running blindly away from where the creature is.

Arthur can feel it running after him, like scorching heat running down his spine, its gaze burns his back.

The ground gets consistently most mushy under him, damp ground turning into mud, then finally into water. Arthur’s boot splash when he stumbles, foot stuck in muddy water. He can hear it getting nearer, and on instinct; he dives into the pool. Time slows as everything muffles, just for a moment, ears filling with water and eyes closing.

He hears a second splash, and uses it as a cue for him to kick upwards and go back from where he had come from. The creature screams, gurgling in the pool as Arthur gasps for air and shakes the mud off his boot, running through the water filling it. His clothes are waterlogged, slowing him but the creature is still splashing wildly inside the pool, and so he runs.

Air becomes harder and harder to breath in, lungs burning despite how much air he’s pulling in. His entire insides feel alight, like a fire boiling deep in his chest and traveling all the way down to his stomach. Arthur forces another breath through his teeth, gritting them harshly when the spot of light that marks Hosea swims in his vision.

His legs feel like bricks, heavier with the weight of water soaking the inside of his boot. Running become harder and harder, and he thinks, maybe he lost too much blood. He can’t hear the creature splashing anymore, but Arthur can’t hear its tapping footsteps either.

Arthur blinks, feels his footsteps becoming more and more clumsy, but doesn’t give in to the tempting pull of darkness. His throat is dry, tightening around itself like he’s drowning in air. Every muscle feels a pull away from tearing. _Don’t stop_, he tells himself, _just get to the light_.

Another blink, his mind is fuzzing, slowly, and he feels the ground incline under him, another hurdle he has to go through. His leg is seething, despite the bandages wrapped around it, no longer blissfully numb, fire matching the one in his chest.

The light is closer now, something treacherous in his mind compels him to look behind him, but he shakes his head and looks straight ahead. One wrong move and he feels he’ll lose his vision, his head is already dangerously heavy, like blood is sliding against the back of his eyes, a feeling he knows all too well. But not in these circumstances, no, it feels close to how getting choked out is. An invisible noose is wrapped around his neck, ghostly hands squeezing his throat.

He’s just imagining things.

Finally, Hosea is in his field of view, the man looking like a soldier in a trench; both lanterns close to him on the ground, pickaxe in hands. “Hosea!” Arthur croaks, feeling a heavy weight uncloaking from around his shoulders, and he feels much lighter than he had in the last few seconds.

Arthur pulls in another breath, coughing when his lungs burned, not enough oxygen running through. Hosea grabs his arm, helping him to his knees and gently swiping his hair out of his face.

“I want to get out,” Arthur says between one cough and another, Hosea claps his shoulder, ushering Arthur to move his head. “I’m fine,”

“When you stop panting like an overheated dog I’ll start believing you,” Hosea mumbles, fingers sliding against Arthur’s temples. With a roll of his eyes, Arthur tugs Hosea’s hand away.

“It’s the air, too dense, or something, been feeling like this for a while,” He explains, hands resting on his hips where the thing had almost broken his skin.

“Come to think about it,” Hosea mumbles, hand clapping Arthur’s shoulder gently, “I’ve been feeling it too, thought it was my cough, though,”

“Well,” Arthur groans as he stands, slowly, taking it easy on his ankle, “The scream weren’t human,”

“Reckon we went the wrong way,” Hosea adds, and they looks around the cave in dismay, “I ain’t too sure I like exploring anymore,”

Arthur hums, unsure what to say. He just wants to go back some, get reprimanded by Dutch about missing out on jobs. Hell, they’re not even coming back with a pelt for Pearson.

Maybe they won’t even come back.

He shakes the thought out of his head, grabbing a lantern. “We should backtrack,” Arthur says, “Last we saw Charles was up above,”

“You said you checked the chambers I didn’t, this was the last one,” Hosea says helpfully, and Arthur nods, “Maybe he’s up there? Where we first got attacked?”

“Or maybe he ain’t alive anymore,” It’s pushed out of his mind before he can really think to stop it. They were no fools, the idea had been echoing consistently between them, just silently. They ignored it, pointedly, and chose to move on...but…

“No use thinking like that,” Hosea waves him off, “we gotta get a move on,” without waiting for Arthur approval, Hosea starts his journey back from where they had come. He should be happy to go back, back up where air wasn’t thicker than the swamps and not so many of the creatures lie.

It’s just…

“Something wrong?” Hosea calls, and Arthur shakes his head again, ignoring the pull in his chest in favor of following Hosea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey~
> 
> Sorry for the long wait, I've been working on writing this ever since August 5th...I just suck at pacing myself.
> 
> Thank you to Sebrthur on Tumblr for proofreading the first quarter of this chapter! Her help really boosted my confidence and inspiration.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, if you want to talk to me/see my shitty memes and 2 am shitposts; you should follow my Tumblr! it's https://samwrittenbysam.tumblr.com/ :)
> 
> Also, you can check out my discord! thelinks are on my page.

Their progress was surprisingly quick.

Within an hour, they had reached a familiar looking archway, and Arthur would be surprised if he wasn't so anxious. Their time in this place has stacked, and from what they both went through, it's almost impossible to get away from those things without finding another. They'd killed two between the both of them, yes, but at what cost? Arthur already feels extremely faint, both from the exhaustion that seemed to stick to him like a shadow and the copious amount of blood that's still sluggishly sliding down his neck. 

He can breathe a little easier, but he knows he won't be at ease until they get Charles and escape this little corner of hell on earth. Thankfully, Hosea seems to have gotten a slight grip on the place, which is a gift sent from above since Arthur can barely distinguish between his left and right. 

It's not long till they start hearing those things hissing, and Arthur holds onto his lantern tighter in efforts to prevent himself from staring at one of them. He can't take another fight.

Only a few more minutes slide by before a gunshot pierces the air. Hosea glances back at him before they head towards the sound, their lanterns clanking loudly as they sprint.

Something akin to hope lights in his chest, and Arthur ignores how his vision swims and stomach lurches as he runs. All he can feel the pressure in his skull, a sure concussion, but his eyes flash an image of the decimated corpses and his mind conjures a cruel picture of Charles between them. It makes him sprint faster, only slowing when Hosea started coughing lightly. 

Another gunshot, a shriek, one that's so close it makes Arthur want to cover his eardrum and curl on himself. They round a large boulder, pausing when they spot the makeshift lantern burning on the ground. Near it, Arthur realizes it's a broken piece of rock with cloth wrapped around and lit on fire.

"Charles!" Hosea calls, Arthur whipping around quickly to where Hosea's gaze runs to. In a distance, Arthur watches as Charles hobbles towards them. Relief courses through him, better than any morphine Reverend buys, when Charles basically crashes into him.

His leg is still bleeding, but he's alive, and there's only a cut across his cheek. 

They don't get to revel in their relief for too long, Arthur catches the sprinting white shadows along the edges of the light.

He helps Charles to the ground, letting Hosea fuss over him briefly, "They can't die," Charles whispers, voice hoarse, "I shot them, over and over-"

"I think they can drown," Arthur bends down, despite his ankle being on fire. It's been like that for a while, running didn't help, "and if you stab them enough"

"You killed one?" Charles asks, looking confused.

"Yeah, but I ain't too proud of it," he motions to his face, and Charles seems to just have noticed the drooping makeshift bandages wrapped around his head.

"We're all here, let's get out," Hosea prompts, looking above, "Right now," his tone is foreign, and Arthur watches as Charles' expression turns into an unfamiliar expression. Terror, something he never imagined would show on Charles' face.

He chooses not to look up, "Then come on," Arthur grits out, pulling Charles' arm around his shoulder.

"The exit is that way, I think," Charles point to darkness, and Arthur doesn't have much choice but to follow that direction.

"reckon so, we came from that side," Hosea throws a thumb beside him, "nothing but death there"

"and there," Charles points to where he had ran from, "is their... I... I don't quite know, I can't bare to think about it," Charles shakes his head, and Arthur nods in understanding. "I found dynamite though, in a crate that was full of miner equipment"

"Poor fools," Arthur mumbles, handing Charles his lantern, "they might be the bodies I found"

"Good lord," Hosea sighs, "let's go, fellas," He shoos, and Arthur starts to drag Charles to where he pointed.

It's slow, and tense and downright terrifying. At one point several nails had scuttled into the light, only to shriek and run away. It's not as comforting as Arthur would expect, especially when Hosea's lantern starts to flicker ominously. 

Charles pulls away from him when a lanky, stretched out arm stays in the light, and then another joins, and Arthur bitterly realizes that those monsters are _learning._ Hosea quickens his step when a long... Screech? Shout? A sound Arthur never heard before blows their hearing away, leaving a ring in their ear that makes panic rise into their chests.

Charles pulls out his knife, wobbling on his hurt leg, but holding strong as the three men scatter to stand back to back.

"They're not afraid of light anymore," Hosea says weakly, and Arthur watches as unnaturally long, thin limbs starts to reach for them, through the light, and Arthur finally gets a good look at their face.

It's nothing he ever wanted to see. 

He doesn't know what possessed him, maybe the way he knew it was going to leap at them, or the basic instinct to fight, but Arthur drops his lantern and jumps at it, knife digging into its misshapen skull, pulling out and stabbing it under its too large jaw, and his knife peaks through the ink black, rotten teeth and tongue. The creature pulls away, almost taking the knife and his arm with it but Arthur pulls too, and his knife cuts through the length of its jaw, catching on its bone before he pulls the knife out. 

He glances behind him, sighing when he finds Charles and Hosea still in the clear. The creature runs, and Arthur turns and motions for his two companions to follow him. 

"Did you see... It's goddamn-"

"Yes," Arthur grits, blinking as Hosea nods in horror, it's nothing they ever saw before, and surely something that'll never be forgotten.

Horrible, sunken eyes, only slits of black peak where an eyeball should be, protruding nose, oddly human in the amalgamation. Jaw that's as wide as two hands, hanging open, a void of black inside, like a maw straight into hell. 

Pitch black hell. 

Teeth that glisten black, tongue that's coated in puss and blood. 

Arthur shakes his head, startling when Charles grabbed his shoulder. "Look,"

Arthur turns, and instantly spots it, the crack in the walls, where dawn light filters in, bright, soft and a beacon of hope.

"That's our way out," Hosea says, voice light for the first time, "Let's go"

And they run, Arthur's ankle almost failing him when the ground inclined suddenly, and he stumbles, making them pause, long enough that Arthur notices the several illuminated white shadows beside the exit. "Hosea," Arthur jerks his chin towards the exit, arms heavy with the lantern and knife.

"They're waiting for us," Charles muses in disappointment. Of course, why the hell would this end easy? When this entire goddamn journey was a thorn in their collective ass.

"We can set up a distraction for them," Hosea suggests, and Charles pulls out the dynamite he found out of his belt, giving it a considering look.

Arthur looks back towards the exit, then back at Charles, "Here," Arthur mumbles, putting his hand out for the dynamite, "Give me," he prompts, and Charles hands him the stick with hesitancy.

"What are you going to do?" Hosea asks and Arthur hands him the lantern he held, "Arthur?"

"Just gonna distract them, you run, I follow and then we blow this fucking place to pieces," he shrugs, looking around, "Do you have a match?"

"Here," Charles pulls one out of his pocket, and Arthur takes it, and as he's pulling away, Charles grabs his wrist "don't die," he says, and Arthur is stuck for a moment just staring at him, then, silently, he nods.

"run when I say for you to," Arthur steps away, "don't goddamn slip this time," he gives a small nervous smile to Hosea, who humors him and makes an annoyed sound.

He steps out of the light, heart jumping when the taps start instantly. He strikes the match across the side of his boot, thankfully dry enough to spark, lighting the dynamite and shouting for Hosea and Charles to run as the monsters screech towards him.

Charles and Hosea now almost out, Arthur begins to follow them, dodging the claw, only barely, it catches on the top of his scalp, and for a moment Arthur thinks it might pull his skin off. His knees buckle under him, the claw drawing away from his head. The dynamite is dangerously close to exploding, one of the creatures grab him, pulling him to his back. He cringes away from the claw that tries to impale his eye, it rears back, hooting loudly, landing with a thud on his chest, thankfully not stabbing him. It screams in his face, and Arthur, on instinct, shoves the dynamite into the beast's mouth, crawling from underneath it as fast as he can while it shrieks in confusion. A few seconds later, there's a deafening explosion behind him, and his back splatters with _something_.

He almost trips when his foot lands on something soft and slippery, and he doesn't get much time to think what it is. The other beasts cry out in anger, and Arthur's heart thrums so fast it actually hurts as he tries to outrun the furious footsteps (nailsteps?) behind him, the tapping threatening him as it gets increasingly closer. 

All he does is run to the light.

It's his only chance, and so he forces his ankle to carry him, no matter how busted it feels, and forces his lungs not to collapse; draw in another breath. Up the incline, he follows the light, no longer fueled by anything but absolute fear. Arthur can barely see, eyes blurry from the blood that sluggishly crawls from his eyebrow down to his eyelashes. The ground straightening underneath him, and it seems so close now, just a few more steps. He breathes a sigh of relief as the furious tapping behind him fades, the light now almost blinding as he gets nearer...and nearer. _Just a bit more now._

The stone scrapes his cheek, arm colliding against the stone as he pushes himself out, and he feels fresh air hit him, the musty smell of the cave vanishing from under his nose almost instantly and replaced by the smell of trees and morning dew. He almost tumbles to his knees, body heavy with relief as Charles and Hosea look at the cave entrance with wide eyes.

_ They’re out. _

The sunlight damn well near blinds him, but he welcomes it, bending over and resting his palms on his knees. The adrenaline is still making his hands shake, and it won't last much longer. Arthur, despite his body begging otherwise, doesn’t fall and curl into a ball on the ground. He doesn’t glance over his shoulder, even if it feels necessary, he whistles for his horse almost automatically. Hosea and Charles snapping out of their trance, their eyes following Arthur as Goliath trots towards him carelessly, unaware of how much they've been through, and strangely, it settles his mind just a bit as he waits patiently for the horse to stand beside him.

Silver Dollar and Taima appear from between the trees a moment later, and Arthur walks a few steps to meet Goliath, hand magnetized and landing softly on the Mustang’s jaw. Goliath blows a breath through his nose, bumping his head against Arthur’s shoulder. A knot releases in his chest, and what little strength held him up vanishes, his knees feeling like nothing but a puddle of water under his skin.

He would have collapsed if it weren’t for Goliath’s head bowing to catch him, his hands thread through the fine hairs of the horse’s mane, and Goliath snorts for a moment; trying to raise his head as Arthur slowly grapples and steadies himself on the saddle horn.

Mounting up was a hassle and a half, his leg seared as he fit it in the stirrup and he couldn’t muster up enough energy to pull himself up. In the end, Goliath had helped him by kneeling, leaving Arthur to collapse in the saddle, and for the horse to pull them both up.

Once Goliath is afoot, Arthur breathes out a sigh, spotting Taima carrying Charles just up the path before his eyes slip shut, and the pain that had singed his blood mutes as darkness pulls at his consciousness and every memory swims in a pool of nonrecognition.

...

The world is rocking underneath him. His eyes are as heavy as lead in water, but he can hear just fine. There are birds singing somewhere in a distance, and the crunch of leaves underneath him. Goliath is huffing and snorting, but he isn’t running, his pace is slow and steady, sure of itself.

He wishes to open his eyes, make sure that this isn’t a dream, but his brain is a fuzzy thing, and just when Arthur thinks it’ll pass over, he sinks into the blanket of sleep again.

…

This time, his eyes open before anything else registers. Arthur finds himself staring his own foot, and the stomp of Goliath’s hoof as they go forward.

His eyes sting fiercely, and there’s a blur just at the edge of his vision. Arthur blinks slowly, trying to clear it, but it doesn’t fade. Muscles aching, Arthur struggles to sit up in the saddle, back stiff and shoulder numb. He eventually finds himself in a close enough position, one that doesn’t pull on his shoulder as he scans the area. It looks like they’re closer the New Hanover border, there’s the sound of rushing water close by.

Arthur turns to look beside him, spotting Charles a few paces behind him, slumped in his saddle. Hosea is on his other side, looking worse for wear, surely exhausted. Arthur's tempted to stop them to have a drink of water, but his body sends a clear message that he can not, and will not, move. He had used up every last inch of his energy, and then some. He can't imagine how Charles and Hosea feel, at least Arthur had some rest in between. 

He leans again on Goliath, hands slotting into his mane, and Goliath gives him a tired neigh. "Lead us home," Arthur whispers to him, "I promise you I'll give you all the treats in the world," he swears, "just get us home," and as though hearing the desperation, Goliath speeds up. 

...

Goliath neighing loudly wakes him up, and Arthur almost falls off the saddle in shock, half hearing the monster's scream instead. His heart settles down when he spots the fire burning in a distance, and the familiar trees around them. He checks to see if Charles and Hosea are still with them, only being half reassured when he saw both slumped in the saddle, but Hosea blinks at him, starting to wake up. "Dutch!" Arthur calls, voice cracking terribly, "John, Grimshaw, anyone!" for some reason his lungs seize in his chest, and he can't scream anymore. 

The bushes rustle, though, and the leaves crunch as several footsteps come closer. "Help," Arthur almost wheezes, spotting Dutch looking at them with a horrified expression, "please," and after that, Arthur knows nothing, eyes blanking as a horrible scream fills his ears. For a moment, he thinks he's back in the cave, before his mind shuts off as well.

...

He wakes up with a startle, a repeating pattern these recent days. Dazed and confused and afraid, it's dark for a moment, before he realizes his eyes are closed. Mentally preparing himself to face another beast, but when he opens his eyes, he finds himself in his tent, with the blinds shut and the sunlight peaking through barely. It's weak, and Arthur guesses it's either very early, or on the cusp of late.

He can't stand the dim lighting though, and he can't help but feel a little claustrophobic. He drags his feet to the floor, eyes squeezing shut when his ruined ankle hits the ground with a burst of pain that makes his calf muscles feel tight. He fights through it, though, wobbling around short on breath outside the tent. Looking up to the sky, thankful no monster hangs above. The stars are peaking through though, cloudless night as the sun dips away. 

"Arthur!" Dutch's voice nearly stops his heart, and he snaps towards him, blinking at the concern that coats Dutch's expression. As soon as Dutch is close, an overwhelming need to hug him surges over him, maybe to make sure that this isn't a dream, maybe as a small celebration of surviving through this. He doesn't fight it, he wobbles the step left to reach Dutch, and grabs him, hugging him so tight his shoulder sears with pain. He doesn't rightly care at that moment, just glad to be away from that foul place.

Dutch makes a surprised sound, but recovers quickly and hugs back, giving Arthur a reassuring squeeze. "You're alright, Arthur," Dutch almost sounds like he's shushing a fussy baby, voice soft and reassuring. Arthur finds himself surprised at the tears that push against his eyes, he's too tired to fight them, so they flow down his cheeks. "You're out of there, you're back here, you're safe now"

Arthur pulls back for a moment, wiping at his eyes with embarrassment, and Dutch has the good sense not to point it out, "Hosea...Charles," Arthur grits out, clearing his throat, "are...are they-"

"Hosea is alright, Charles too," Dutch answers, and Arthur feels even more relief coat his blood, "you, on the other hand, need to rest, you got it the worst," Dutch tries to cajole him back into the tent, but Arthur shakes his head.

"Too dark," Arthur admits, almost shyly, voice so low he doubts Dutch heard it.

But he did, and he gives Arthur a sympathetic look. If Arthur felt better, he might have scoffed at it, but he can only hunch over himself, absentmindedly reaching to touch his torn ear. "We can stay out for a bit," Dutch says kindly, "but you can't be standing around on that foot of yours, else it'll never heal," he scolds, and Arthur would roll his eyes and joke that he isn't Grimshaw, but he only smiles, wincing when his cheeks stung, probably some cut or another.

"Okay," Arthur yields, and Dutch leads him to his tent, where Hosea was asleep in Dutch's bed. 

"You think you can sit?" Dutch asks, and Arthur nods, sitting where Dutch pointed and leaning back against the stiff chair. Honestly, he might have complained before, but being here, away from those things, that alone makes everything feel like a luxury. "Can you tell me what happened?" Dutch asks, and Arthur finds himself staring blankly at the ground, the hoots and echoes of shrieks at his ear, scarred into his mind. Tongue tied, or maybe too afraid to speak of it, like it would summon the thing, Arthur shakes his head; pulling in a deep breath.

"Nothin'...nothin' good..." he whispers, and Dutch places a hand on his knee, sensing his discomfort, or if Arthur dared, anxiety even.

"You don't have to," Dutch says, and Arthur nods, relieved.

"Maybe someday," Arthur promises, and Dutch gives him a thoughtful look, and squeezes his knee.

"Maybe someday," he echoes. 


End file.
